Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > You Make Me Live
Glamorous Indie Rock And Roll
0 reviewsMaking up, breaking up... what do you care? Heh, sorry, that song is in my head.
0Unrated
Just yesterday Patrick had slammed the same kitchen door behind him. It was nothing new. For some weeks now it had been going on. It seemed, at every opportunity, things were destined to go wrong in his relationships. And not just with the girls.
An angry voice stung through the venue.
‘HEY! You get back here and sweep that up!! I’m sick of your moods, Patrick!!’
With a small laugh Patrick threw a finger up behind him, enraging a fuming Pete even more. He started towards Patrick but felt himself being dragged back. Turning round he saw Andy struggling to hold on.
‘Let go, Andy!’
‘Not until you’ve calmed down. I’ll sweep up the glass. Just cool down, man, OK?
You can talk things over later, without anyone getting hurt. Now’s not the time to go barging in.’
Andy carried on like this for a while until he felt Pete stop struggling and drop his arms with a sigh. The two headed back towards the kitchen and Pete gave a small sniff.
‘I don’t get it. All we do these days is argue,’ he sighed, pouring himself a glass of water. ‘About everything. The set list, new songs… even what we’re getting for dinner. And I don’t even remember how it all started. What’s going on?’
Andy tipped the shards of glass into the bin, cutting his finger and wincing. ‘He broke that glass?’
‘Yeah. Second one in two days.’
‘Maybe it’s not your fault. Go and ask him later what the problem is. I’m sure he’ll tell you, you guys will always be best friends.’
‘You think?’ Pete sighed again.
‘I know. Now give it a half-hour or so, and go and find him.’ Andy suggested, wrapping a plaster round his finger.
‘Thanks, dude… Yeah, we need to talk. I haven’t actually seen him in ages…’
*
Patrick sighed as he fell back onto his bunk, his hands wearily rubbing his face. It was getting really irritating and repetitive, this ferocious arguing with Pete. Half the time the arguments didn’t even make sense, they just yelled things at each other. For a moment he felt sorry for some of the things he’d said, for breaking things, for losing his rag. But then he remembered the looks on Pete’s face, and couldn’t remember a single sad or sorry look among them.
Rolling onto his stomach he reached for his phone.
No new messages
Well, isn’t that unusual? thought Patrick sarcastically. He got up off the bed and logged onto the laptop, typing in the address for Pete’s blog. A photo of Pete and John Mayer, a band recommendation, a couple of Twitter updates with some cryptic Pete-isms. Nothing about him. Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen anything about him, or the rest of the band, for a few months now.
He clicked back through the pages, looking at various Clandestine T-shirts and pictures of Hemingway and Supras. Eventually he gave up trying to find an article and logged off, crawling under the covers and sniffing, before falling into an uneasy sleep.
An angry voice stung through the venue.
‘HEY! You get back here and sweep that up!! I’m sick of your moods, Patrick!!’
With a small laugh Patrick threw a finger up behind him, enraging a fuming Pete even more. He started towards Patrick but felt himself being dragged back. Turning round he saw Andy struggling to hold on.
‘Let go, Andy!’
‘Not until you’ve calmed down. I’ll sweep up the glass. Just cool down, man, OK?
You can talk things over later, without anyone getting hurt. Now’s not the time to go barging in.’
Andy carried on like this for a while until he felt Pete stop struggling and drop his arms with a sigh. The two headed back towards the kitchen and Pete gave a small sniff.
‘I don’t get it. All we do these days is argue,’ he sighed, pouring himself a glass of water. ‘About everything. The set list, new songs… even what we’re getting for dinner. And I don’t even remember how it all started. What’s going on?’
Andy tipped the shards of glass into the bin, cutting his finger and wincing. ‘He broke that glass?’
‘Yeah. Second one in two days.’
‘Maybe it’s not your fault. Go and ask him later what the problem is. I’m sure he’ll tell you, you guys will always be best friends.’
‘You think?’ Pete sighed again.
‘I know. Now give it a half-hour or so, and go and find him.’ Andy suggested, wrapping a plaster round his finger.
‘Thanks, dude… Yeah, we need to talk. I haven’t actually seen him in ages…’
*
Patrick sighed as he fell back onto his bunk, his hands wearily rubbing his face. It was getting really irritating and repetitive, this ferocious arguing with Pete. Half the time the arguments didn’t even make sense, they just yelled things at each other. For a moment he felt sorry for some of the things he’d said, for breaking things, for losing his rag. But then he remembered the looks on Pete’s face, and couldn’t remember a single sad or sorry look among them.
Rolling onto his stomach he reached for his phone.
No new messages
Well, isn’t that unusual? thought Patrick sarcastically. He got up off the bed and logged onto the laptop, typing in the address for Pete’s blog. A photo of Pete and John Mayer, a band recommendation, a couple of Twitter updates with some cryptic Pete-isms. Nothing about him. Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen anything about him, or the rest of the band, for a few months now.
He clicked back through the pages, looking at various Clandestine T-shirts and pictures of Hemingway and Supras. Eventually he gave up trying to find an article and logged off, crawling under the covers and sniffing, before falling into an uneasy sleep.
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